“Cardigans.”
The front doorsto Haven-7 Community Academy hiss open with all the ceremony of a slap to the face. The smell of crayons, overripe fruit snacks, and institutional cleaner hits me in a wave. I suppress a twitch. My suit's too sharp for this place. My smile? Sharper.
Receptionist clocks me instantly. I watch her eyes move from my horns to the cut of my blazer to the credentials folder in my hand. She opens her mouth, then closes it, nodding toward the admin corridor without a word.
Good. Let the myth precede me.
I stride in.
Principal Jennings has the look of someone who’s one flat tire away from a full-scale meltdown. Her glasses are crooked, and one of her shoes is off. She’s pacing in mismatched socks when I knock on the doorframe.
She turns with the wary enthusiasm of someone expecting another fire to put out.
“Mr. Kuraken?” she asks.
I nod, stepping forward and offering the folder with both hands. “Principal Jennings. I believe you received my application this morning?”
She opens the folder with a kind of reverence, like it might explode. Her eyes skim the top sheet. “Cephalon-4 public cohort. Graduated with honors in Inter-Species Developmental Psych. Thesis on empathy across xenolinguistic barriers.” She squints at me over the paper. “Bit of a mouthful.”
I offer a well-calibrated chuckle. “The title was longer than the thesis.”
Jennings makes a sound somewhere between a snort and a laugh. She’s tired, and it shows in every movement. I push a little harder.
“I’ve worked with early-stage learners on space stations, fringe colonies, even orbital habitats with zero-grav toddlers.”
“Zero-grav toddlers?” she echoes.
“Stickiest creatures in the galaxy,” I say solemnly.
She closes the folder. “Mr. Kuraken, I’m going to be honest. I’d have hired you even if you only had half these qualifications. We’re desperate. Room 5B is like a war zone. Five subs have fled. One started a crystal healing retreat.”
“I’m not afraid of chaos.”
“You should be. These kids—especially one of them—makelittle warlordslook tame.”
My jaw doesn’t move, but something under my skin shifts. Just a twitch.
She hands me a badge and a thin tablet. “You’re in. If you survive the day, we’ll talk long-term. Just… don’t make any of them cry, okay?”
“I’ll do my best.”
She leans back, sighs like she’s just handed her problems to a passing god. “Welcome to Haven-7.”
Room 5B smellslike glue sticks and desperation.
The door slides open on a high-pitched scream, some poor soul losing a battle over crayons. A chair topples. Something sticky lands on my boot.
Twelve small creatures whirl toward me like feral birds. Some human, some mixed-gen. All of them loud.
Perfect.
I let the silence stretch. It takes five seconds. Maybe six.
Then I reach into my coat, pull out a small set of red-and-black dice, and roll them on the teacher’s desk. Theclick-clackof ceramic dice on plastiglass slices through the noise like a sonic blade.
Twelve pairs of eyes snap to the sound.
“Math game,” I say. Calm. Casual.
